We’ve been in a deep cold snap for what feels like years. Calgary is no stranger to cold weather but it does feel rare to be so cold for so long, without a warm-weather chinook to give us a break, even just for a few days.
The temperatures have consistently hovered around -27 C (sometimes feeling like -36 C with windchill) and we received a record-breaking snowfall over the course of two days last week. Life around these parts has been made up of endless snow shovelling; air so cold it takes your breath away; toques and scarves and mitts and sweaters. Olive’s school doesn’t let the kids play outside when it’s below -15 C and we’ve been driving to school rather than walking in the frigid temperatures.
All of this has added up to both of us feeling stir crazy. Late last week found me pacing my house like a caged animal, eager for fresh air, sunlight, and a chance to stretch my legs. So on Friday when I picked Olive up from kindergarten we didn’t go home – instead, we headed to a little mountain town called Canmore about an hour away. I’d planned the whole thing as a surprise, booked a hotel with a pool and a waterslide – hoping that a few days out of the city would be just what we needed.
Poetry has made its way back into my life in a big way lately. I’ve always admired the precision of a few carefully chosen words and the way a single sentence can shock you into silence with its perfect composition.
So – happy Sunday. One of my favourite poems for my daughter and the full text written out afterwards.
Oh hey there, I’m just popping in with a very quick post to say that I may have drastically underestimated how adept Olive is at trolling me and/or I am killing it with this whole parenting thing.
I’ve been meaning to write this post for weeks (OK fine, months) and the fact that I haven’t had time to do so yet is kind of perfect, actually. It’s fitting that the only time I’ve had time to write about our life is when a big piece of it is missing. Olive’s at her dad’s and I finally have some silence. Some space and room to think.
Each time I thought of sitting down to write this post I’d remember eight other articles that had to be completed first and on the rare occasions when my writing slate was clear I’d sit here and wonder what the hell a typical day in our life even looks like these days.
I’d like to take a moment to enthusiastically discuss how wonderful four-year-olds are.